That Butler, Dead
by Screamin-Whispers
Summary: The butler has been found dead. The guests cannot escape. Death is the only thing known for sure. Well, death and a whole lot of horrific fun. Based on Chapters 38-50 of the manga, but different.
1. The Child, Sleeping

Rain fell with alarming intensity against the roof of the manor to match the air within. Well, alarming for some. Everything was alarming for some. Others cared not, and yet a third group couldn't care about anything anymore. Bu all knew, or had once known, that something deadly lurked within the manor. Water shot from the sky like silver bullets and encased the manor in an ever moving cage with liquid bars. It encased the occupants, trapping, caring or otherwise, in the home of the child-earl.

The child himself slept, disregarding the death that lingered in the thoroughfares of his grand home. The wordsmith sat upright beside him in the plush bed, unable to sleep. The bed frothed with covers and quilts, finery in such a degree the chocolate-haired man had never experienced, finery that he would probably never experience again. He was uncomfortable amid all the comfort. The shackle that was clamped around his wrist felt like ice even after all the heat his body had spent to attempt to warm it, all the heat drunken up by the greedy metal. The man's mind buzzed with thoughts, trying to work out what was going on, how such things were possible. Why was this happening to him?

The wordsmith's eyes, however, were continually drawn back to the boy, however. His pink lips were parted slightly, the fleshy gate open to free the dream filled breaths that accumulated within the cave of his mouth. The breaths that kept him in the world of the living. His eyelashes were black spider silk against a snow white sky. He was a crystal doll with painted lips and a soft caress of flush across his exposed cheek. The beige eye-patch, however, shattered the china illusion of the boy's otherwise beautifully crafted face.

The hungry cloth cupped at the earl's eye, selfishly hiding the closed lid from sight. As if there was some secret beneath that was too heavy for a mere man to bear. The secret pricked at the wordsmith's mind, drawing larger and larger, manifesting a increasing number of cells inside his skull. What was it about the boy's eye that made him so reluctant to remove the covering even in sleep? It was an oddly childish action, seeing what the wordsmith had learned so far about the earl. For such a young boy his age wasn't readily apparent even in sleep. The single factor that gave away his youth was the inherent beauty of childhood that lingered over the downy curve of the boy's cheek and the length of his lashes.

A small slender hand lay delicately bent against a pillow a few shades lighter than the skin of the head resting so heavily upon it. Occasionally the slight appendage would twitch or flex slightly in reaction to some dream occurrence. What did the boy dream of? How did the child dream when there lingered such a frightening smog of threat in his abode? And the earl the one accused of the killing. How did he sleep so peacefully?

The pale half moon of the earl's visage visible to the restless wordsmith moved slightly, a muscle jump, and the boy snuggled his face further into the feather soft cloud of pillow that supported his china skull. Dark hair tumbled down his face to cover his turned down lids and collect at the bridge of his finely arched nose. A small sound of contentment escaped the by's throat nearly at the same time as a soft, sharp intake of air.

"S-sbas-stian?" The child mumbled, butterfly lips moving so little that the intrigued wordsmith had to lean in to catch the flutter at all. The words held none of the usual confidence the earl's voice usually overflowed with, none of the authority that often manifested the thin voice, filling it out.

In a sudden movement that caused the young wordsmith to jump back slightly on the plush bed the child earl rolled over, his elegant neck further exposed as his jaw tipped back. The chains rattled like objects possessed at the motions, scraping at the floor beneath the bed. The sounds were partially concealed by the child's continued silky mumblings.

"S-Se- Help Seba- ow, no, stop… It hurts, Sebastian. No!" The words were strung upwards into a plaintive continuous mewl. A whining cry trundled back down the octave, and a milky hand reached out as the boy rolled over again, facing the wordsmith again, his sleeping face twisted into a mask of fearful apprehension. The boy's dreams were not treating him kindly.

The hand caught the man's wrist and clung to it like spider-webbing to a struggling insect. The wordsmith froze, unsure of what to do as the boy's body twisted slightly under the onslaught of his dream world. Or perhaps of the assault of his fragile sugar imagination failing to darker images, tumbling down about his delicate body.

"Sebastian, help!" The wail was cut abruptly off as the boy calmed, relaxing back into his dream, his fingers still tighter around the coffee haired man's wrist than the iron shackle.

"You truly seem more child-like in your sleep than in waking, Ciel." The wordsmith said, prying the fingers from his wrist, his eyes on the delicate face. The face still darkened by slight turmoil.

"Doesn't he though?"


	2. That Butler, Insolent

A surprised exclamation jumped like an exploding firecracker from the dark. The wordsmith whirled to spot the butler standing tall beside him. The dark haired man in the bed's fingers clenched in the fabric as a thrill of fear ran through his body. How long had the man stood there? How had he not noticed? There was a white pillow in the butler's arms, clutched to his chest like a beloved sack of sugar. That and his light skin were the only things that showed in the darkness of the room. The rest of him was dark as a wraith, even his eyes.

Presumably jerked awake by the sound that had emitted from the wordsmith's lips, the child sat up luxuriously, rubbing his eye. The tropic water depths of his iris gleamed in the half light as they found the shadowed face of his loyal butler. The tiniest of smile curved his lips up, warming his entire countenance for a slender second.

"Give it to me then." The command broke the warmth with its icy utterance. A sharp command issued from sugar frosted lips.

The earl shook his head slightly, a silent command to his hair. The locks fell back into their proper places like rows or wispy dark soldiers lining up and standing at attention about the boy's face and neck. A slim hand extended, a third command, and followed the tall seemingly insubstantial butler around the bed to his master's side. The boy gave the man a half glare, one that was diluted by his position, bare legs tucked underneath him, bed-shirt pooling around him.

"It certainly took you long enough." The pale boy said, the smile's lightest traces dead and buried under the commanding scowl now twisting there.

"I apologize for taking so long with the young master's pillow." The velvet voice purred, amber eyes shining catlike as the tall slim body bent forward. A pitch-black lock of hair escaped orderly perfection and fled down the marble face. The sleek strands caressed a perfect nose before a white gloved hand sent them rushing back behind the light ear. One pillow was replaced with an identical copy, and the delicate head flopped down upon the white fluff as one who suddenly found themselves with a loss of spinal integrity would slump.

"Better." The youth commented, the scowl alleviated as hands slid under the plush cushion and the feather comfort pressed against the child-earl's face.

"Would you also like a lullaby, young master?" The velvet voice inquired, an amused lilt lifting the end of the sardonic query.

"No." The word, dark and angry, was drown out by the rattling of the chains as the child lifted his face to glare at his butler.

The boy sounded a sulky youth and not a nobleman. How funny was his ever changing between the two. The wordsmith quirked a smile. How the earl managed to keep up an adult façade for as long as he did was amazing, and the chinks in his act were only sometimes visible. Like now. The wordsmith was a lucky audience for such a momentous event.

The butler's lips curved into a smile as well, lightening his handsomely ominous features for a broken moment. After a short glance at the wordsmith, who stared at the two with a mixture of curiosity and mortification floating in his features, the butler leaned in.

"If you require my help for any reason, you must only call for me." he said in a silk-on-skin voice so quiet that the other occupant of the room could not discern the words. His breath stirred the midnight blue locks of his young master, sending them dancing and skittering about his pale cherub face and slender neck. His fine nose brushed the younger's cheek slightly, and the boy pulled away.

An eye-brow of the earl lifted slightly, a half scowl tugging at his lips. His body curved away from the sudden proximity his butler had the gall to initiate, especially in the presence of a guest. His lips parted slightly, the frown drawing down the corners in distaste. But his eye sparked with slight curious. The eyelid fell and rose in a half instant, a silent order for the servant to elaborate.

"Help Sebastian, It hurts." The butler quoted in soft falsetto, a smile ghosting his features.

The liquid eye flashed with anger, hardening into a rock dagger of fury. It narrowed, and both hands clenched the fabric of the bed-clothes. The wordsmith could feel the tension in the air and held his breath, wondering what would transpire. The anger built up precariously high, then higher and higher until it seemed it couldn't grow any more. The boy and the servant were held still, locked in place by the heavy blanket of anger, snake-like eyes, and a half curled smirk. The whispered words still hung in the air, adding kindling to the frozen fire of the earl's rage.

In a sudden moment catharsis spread throughout the room with warm soft fingers. Fingers that started with the sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh and metal hitting bone. The butler's head was turned slightly, but no emotion revealed itself. The outline of a small delicate hand, and a darker bruise where the ring, the ring with the stone that matched the eye staring up at him, anger diffused.

They shared a mutual blink, and the boy rolled over to face the wordsmith. The midnight-haired child was met with a slightly confused face, but not one that pleaded for information. The man was, despite his lack of knowledge in the loaded situation, content in his ignorance.

The limber form of the dark man bent in a fluid bow, curving snake-like. The pillow was still held fast to his chest by two pitch-sleeved arms. He sent a half amused half annoyed look at his master's back before he turned.

"Sleep well, young master." Were his departing words.

"Sleep well, Sebastian."


	3. The Child, Bereaved

**A****/N: **_Sorry for the fluctuation between posting times of late. All my short little chapters should come in at a more regular paces as of now. _

A blue eye flashed and sparked with the barest hints of worry. The ghostly form carried itself nobly through the hall. Another form followed it, the form of a young man. Behind him was yet another form, that of an older man. They held incremental loads of worry in their eyes. The little lord knew something was wrong, and he intended to make it to the room before any of the other guests could find it. Of course, he'd slept late, as his butler had not woke him up at the proper time he obviously wouldn't be the first to discover what had transpired.

The door was filled with the sounds of voices speaking softly, sounds of fear and sounds of disgust. The child entered the room and all faces turned to him. All the servants, the two blonde men and the pink-haired young woman, had tear-streaked faces. The blue eye landed on them first. None of them could meet his gaze.

The young woman, the light haired singer had her face buried into the shoulder of the man next to her. Diaz and Keane. Her producer and her partner. He looked faintly disgusted, but more worried for his lady than anything else. Beside him stood the white-haired butler to the queen, who looked rather reflective and a tad confused. The rich bulky man stood on the other side of the doorway, blocking the ear's immediate view of the scene beyond. Woodley. He moved swiftly out of the boy's way, however, his eyes more on the young woman hanging from the dark-haired man's arm that stood off to the side. Ran Mao and Lau. Two were missing. The German, who was dead already, and the young blonde man, whose whereabouts were unknown. Phelps. He was probably still asleep in his room.

Everyone fell silent when the adolescent caught sight of the scene. The child's lips parted slightly at first, a slightly bemused expression crossing his features. He blinked his eye blank but fixed on the body laying flat in the center of the room. His figure stayed upright, but as words leaked from his mouth the boy's body seemed to curl upon itself like a flaming leaf.

"S-sebastian?"

The word hung in the air, floating on the horrible tension of the room. The tension and the overwhelming scent of blood. Everything seemed to gravitate towards the body, slowly; everyone seemed to lean in slightly, trying to evade the pull of the gory sight.

A golden poker like a proud flag-pole protruded from the unmoving chest. Blood had been spattered everywhere, and an open-mouthed expression of utter surprise was etched across the dead butler's face. A single elegant foot took the journey forward, followed by the other in a shuffling fashion. The child halted when he stood at the edge of the pool of blood that surrounded the body like a deformed crimson snow angel.

Then the earl took a step forward tentatively, like a child dipping his toes into the sea for the first time. The blank shocked look vacated his face as the blood squelched under his toes, replaced by an almost angry scowl. He gazed upon the surprised face, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"Stop fooling around Sebastian. That doesn't look comfortable to me at all. How long do you intend to play this game?" The voice was delicate as a moth's wing, even while the words were crisp and hard. He already knew that his butler was dead, and that the blood beneath the souls of his feet was once the man's life.

Someone began to speak behind the boy, whether it was Finny, the young blonde gardener, or Mey-rin, the pink-haired maid wasn't readily discernible. But the sound was masked by another louder sound. The sound of a foot striking a body. Ciel looked angry, the top of his foot now covered in blood along with the bottom.

"I told you to get up Sebastian, didn't you hear me?" The boy growled, his voice growing in volume. Then in a sudden movement he placed his foot, the one he'd just used to slam into the dead body's rib cage, on Sebastian's chest and tore the poker from its resting place. It was cast aside as the earl straddled the body, lifting it up by the front of its jacket.

"Wake up this moment Sebastian!" the boy screamed, his voice saturated with anger and desperation. "That is an order. Do you hear me! An order! I won't tolerate this Sebastian! I won't!" The adolescent's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, breaking.

The guests and servants looked on in varying stages of disgust, dismay, and grief. Ciel wasn't letting a single tear fall down his face, even as his compact body trembled. He was smeared with his butler's blood; his eyes alight with some maniac rage as he began slapping Sebastian's face violently. The sound of flesh hitting flesh caused more than one guest to flinch.

"I never gave you permission to die, Sebastian! Wake up right no-"

"Calm down, young master. Give it a rest." A broad tanned hand caught the slender one. The boy turned to find Bard restraining his hand. The boy's face lost the crazed light, falling in on itself. He knew what the cook would say, and he didn't want to hear it.

"He's already dead."


	4. That Butler, Unresponsive

"No...no... You're joking, right?" Ciel looked up at his cook from his position on his butler's chest. His hand tightened on the saturated jacket. His fingers turned a little redder. Bard released the child's dove-wing hand and it plummeted to the scarlet-soaked carpet.

The blonde spoke not another word, just backed away. The earl was left straddling his butler in the middle of the room, blood smeared all over his tiny form from the soles of his feet to his finger tips. His throat bobbed as he absorbed his situation. All the guests stared at him. He blinked. Outside rain could be heard throwing itself violently at the house in an attempt to find a way in. But the only thing it managed to do was keep everyone inside.

Everyone was trapped inside. With the murderer. With Sebastian's killer. Hopeless eyes turned to the pale, still face. Feather-light fingers ghosted over eyelids, shutting them over blank eyes. The tortured form bent over the body slightly, staring at the cold face as fingers caressed its cheek.

"Only you, Sebastian. You were supposed to stay with me until the end. How could you leave me?" The form trembled as it leaned over the body of its only constant. Or at least, his former constant. No tears fell from the boy's eyes, but his shaking frame told all. It screamed the grief of a child left alone with nothing in the world. The grief of a child who, faced with the death of his parents, persevered and found a new protector. And who now, affronted by the loss of yet another didn't shed a single tear.

The woman, Lady Diaz, made a small sound of grief as she peered at the boy and his deceased butler from over her companion's shoulder. Her slender features were buried into the cloth of the thin producer's jacket. Lau watched with a blank smile, rubbing the small of his girl's back. She clung to him, face impassive. The light haired Earl Grey looked slightly amused, but his facial muscles were tensed, as if he were trying not to grin.

The child pressed his head into the hollow of the dead man's stretched neck, his teeth gritted. The body was cold, but not stiff. The blood made it slick, but it was beginning to dry around the edges. On the face, the chest, the gloved hands. The pale form of the child, smeared with garish red blood, was like a stricken dove.

"The body will rot if you don't move it quickly." A sardonic voice startled the silence into submission. Earl Grey. He had a bored look on his face.

The white haired man's arms crossed in front of his chest in an almost defensive manner when every eye apart from those of the mourning child and the dead man turned in his direction.

The cook, after a pause in which he looked down at the blood-spattered floor, a pained look in his eyes, nodded. "He's right. We should get him downstairs."

The pink haired maid tentatively stepped forward and grabbed the midnight haired boy about the torso, pulling him off his former butler. He struggled against her, grabbing at the dead man's clothes and flailing slightly, his pail limbs like deadly, bloody clubs. They came in contact with nothing though, as the bespectacled young woman was careful.

"No! No! Get off me!" The boy struggled, his lips stretching wide as he screeched. "Sebastian! Listen to me! You better not leave me! That's an order! Do you hear me? An order! An order!" The child's voice was saturated with pain, and was slightly restricted by the arms around his chest.

Mey-rin managed to pull the little earl away from the body, and when she released him he remained standing. His little form swayed slightly, but managed to stay balanced. He smoothed his bloody shift, and the servants surrounded his little form. The blonde cook wrapped his coat around the slender body, and Finny wrapped his arms around the boy, sobbing.

The guests were talking among themselves of the death and how it happened. And what the next course of action was. A blue eye, bright with grief, stared at them from over the shoulder of the gardener. The young earl said nothing.

"We should take him down to the basement." The snowy-haired, blank-faced man stated, shooting a glance at the stony faced youth staring at him over a shaking shoulder.

The others gathered in mutual agreement, and Grey waved a hand at the servants, an amused look on his face as he ordered them. "Take the body downstairs. Now."

Finny drew an arm across his face, wiping his nose, and Mey-rin blinked away her tears. The three servants released their master, who stood, his hair hanging lank around his face, nose pointed towards the floor.

"I shall help." The night-sky boy announced in a soft voice, Almost a whisper.


	5. The Child, Drifting

A large slatted bucket with an old rusty handle, clenched in a porcelain hand. Soft grunts of exertion expelled, raining down from above the bucket, which sloshed precariously. Thunk. It landed on a stair. A grating sound. Dragged down to the next stair. Thunk. The stones were unresponsive to the boy's struggle, they sat cold and grey, barely visible in the dark.

Ahead, two dark shapes drifted down the stairs with ease, a stretch of blackness between them. In front of the trio was the final companion, bearing a lantern that threw shadows like rag-dolls against the wall of the curling stairwell. Down the frigid basement, where the wine rested calmly, and another body resided as well.

The midnight boy had insisted on carrying something down the stairs, and Earl Grey shoved a bucket into his slender arms. The child earl was too short, he maintained, to carry the lantern. But he was too delicate; it seemed, to carry the full bucket which would clean the body of blood. Yet he persevered onward, his breath exploding like pained fireworks in the air around his mouth, to proud to relinquish his hold on the item that probably weight more than he.

The quartet ahead consisted of not only Earl Grey and the body of the butler, but the little gardener and the now stone-faced chef. Distance quickly sprang between the group and the boy, and soon enough he could only just see the dim light radiating from the lantern. He didn't mind the dark though, he relished it.

Thunk. Thunk. Scrape. Thunk. Down and down, until the winding stairs ended, and the lantern's glow once again reached the child's eyes. Water sloshed from the bucket, splatting like spittle against the cold floor. An illuminated profile turned. Dewey silver eyes gazed at the boy for a moment and a single tropical eye stared back. Butterfly lips were parted, and air passed between them at a high velocity. The young earl averted his eyes first, his head bowing so he could continue dragging the bucket across the floor with a grating whine.

Clearing the body of blood spatters was no slow matter. The child winced slightly every time another of his butler's articles of clothing was shorn off in a careless manner by the light haired male, who was obviously intent on cleaning the body as quickly as possible. The muscular form of the butler was wiped down roughly, he slumped like a puppet and his skull tilted this way and that as he was flipped over and the gaping wound in his back was washed out as well. At the end the water in the bucket was red, but the body was pale.

The child, his dark head bent still, waited until they'd reclothed the corpse before speaking. His pale fingers were knitted, resting against his abdomen as he stood, rocking back and forth slightly on the spot. His eye was wide, as if he was trying vainly not to cry.

"I shall have a moment alone before I return to the dining hall for breakfast." The child said. Despite his authoritative words, his voice still wobbled slightly.

The two servants took his words as a dismissal. Finny, after a quiet sniffle, took the bloody water with him. For a few seconds it was only Earl Grey and Earl Phantomhive. The grey eyes caught the boy's eye again. The light haired man stared him down, but this time it was he that looked away, pivoting on one foot and walking smartly to the icy stairwell, leaving the lantern behind.

The child heaved a gusty sigh and his eye turned to the prone form on the ground. "Who said I couldn't act?" he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I never said a word, Bocchan." The dead man spoke.

"You did well too." The youth released the praise a touch reluctantly.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my performance." 

The smaller form moved closer to the now sitting butler, and settled down next to him, tucking his knees beneath him. The dark haired male leaned over and wrapped an arm around the pale boy, pulling him closer.

"Sebastian, my head hurts now. And I don't suppose you saw the way the Earl Grey was looking at me, did you?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Bocchan. You closed my eyes. I couldn't rightly open them again without attracting attention." The silky voice purred.

The midnight haired child rested his head against his butler's shoulder, and the elegant other rubbed his arm gently. Petulant lips spread again, this time in a lasting yawn. The eye roved to the other's angular face, and blinked slowly. The corners of the other's eyes crinkled as he smiled slightly.

"You are tired." The butler stated simply.

"If you say so. I couldn't rightly get any sleep with that dammed man beside me. He kept sighing and rattling the chain…" Before he could finish, the boy's eyes drooped to half mast, his body relaxing even further.

The dark haired butler slowly lowered his Bocchan to the stone floor and curled up around the drifting form protectively. His marble lips brushed across the edge of the other's jaw, and the child sighed softly, settling flush against the larger form.

"What are we going to do about Gre…" The child began to mumble, but his voice tapered off, sinking into a pleasant mumble then disappearing into the air.

He'd worry about the loose murderer later.


End file.
